


the night is cold (but my heart is warm)

by fuechsli



Series: hearts [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Cats, Christmas AU, Christmas Eve, Dogs, LITERALLY, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, a little drama and a little fluff, but a good mess i think?, criminology professor!andrew, homeless!neil, it's a mess, most of them got children, the whole foxes family basically, uhh who did i miss?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-12 09:02:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuechsli/pseuds/fuechsli
Summary: on christmas eve, there's a boy on the streets, a dog for company and nothing else. andrew can't walk away.the family immediately loves him (and maybe thinks they're boyfriends).or;the au where i tried to include all the prompts but don't think i really managed?part of the aftg gift exchange





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> So. This is my aftgexchange gift for the wonderful requiemofkings on tumblr, and I only went a little overboard, so I have to post this in chapters, otherwise I fear I'll never come around to it.  
> I'll try to have everything edited and posted here by the end of the deadline, we'll see how that goes. 
> 
> until then, enjoy the first chapter and please forgive me for the kind of horrible writing. most of it came into being during NaNo and I fear I didn't manage to get rid of all the messy writing style that comes with it.
> 
> anyway.
> 
> enjoy.
> 
> ((summary will most likely change, and maybe also the title))

It’s cold. Windy. The rain drizzles drearily from the sky. 

Or maybe it has finally begun to snow? 

Neil isn’t sure, and doesn’t bother to open his eyes. The noise of the streets and the city wraps itself around him like a permeable, scratchy blanket that doesn’t do anything to protect him. 

When the cold creeps into his clothes, he shivers, curls closer to the warmth at his side, undisturbed by the dampness of her fur, though he can’t stop his nose from twitching with the unpleasant smell of wet dog. 

Trixie shifts then, stretching her paws contently as her tail begins to wag with enough force to rhythmically, but rather violently whack against the back of Neil’s thigh. He sighs, curls his fingers into the thick hair at the back of her neck, and, when that doesn’t do anything to calm her down, pries his stuck-together eyelids open with difficulty. He opens his mouth to tell her that, _no_ , she can’t have that hot dog or whatever else she’s smelling right now, _don’t you remember what happened the last time?_ , but a metallic clink in his vicinity stops him dead in his tracks. 

His muscles pull taut, shoulders tensing, fingers snagging in a snarl of Trixie’s fur, before his brain has any chance of catching up with what’s happening, flight-instincts coiled tight in his stomach, and it’s only when the blurred mess in front of his eyes sharpens and finds focus that he manages to pull in a shuddery breath.

It rattles in chest, as do the gleaming coins that now lie on the bottom of the paper coffee cup in front of him. As he watches, a twenty dollar bill follows, flutters in the wind and almost misses the cup, but doesn’t, in the end. 

Neil blinks. 

Narrows his eyes, looks again. 

The money is still where shouldn’t, where it doesn’t have any reason to be. 

His body only kicks into action again when he feels Trixie twist against his side and he knows she’s about to get up; his hand reaches up these couple of inches, numb fingers wrapping around the makeshift collar he’s made her for Christmas. Distantly, he’s amazed that the cheap gift-wrapping bow holds when she strains against it just so, turning her head to glance at him with a betrayed look in her intelligent eyes, but he doesn’t dare to let go at the moment. It takes a split-second, then she blinks; her tongue flops out of her mouth and once across Neil’s face, accompanied   by that rumble in her throat and chest that tries to mimic the purr of a car but fails miserably, and then she finally sits her butt down next to him, the danger of her going after someone who won’t be happy about it staved off once more, and only then does it occur to him to look up, to try and find out just what is happening here. 

(It’s mostly to distract himself from the subsequent realization that he really shouldn’t try to dictate how this dog lives her life, not when he has so little control over his own; she’s a free being and Neil has no right to hold her back from doing whatever she wants, and sometimes, knowing that _hurts_. But as it happens, this time, the distraction happens to be a good one, and so he doesn’t think about it.)

It’s raining, Neil thinks, though it won’t take much for it to turn into snow. It’s late and/or dark enough for the street lamps to have turned on with additional help from Christmas lights everywhere, traffic is heavy as people strive to get home to their families and a cozy warmth, and there’s a man standing in front of him. 

He’s wrapped up in a long, black coat and wearing a bemused expression as well as a black knit-cap, and his body-language tells Neil  that he feels as unsure about this as Neil does.

Their eyes meet for a heartbeat, and Neil blinks, startled by the intensity of it, before the words tumble out of his mouth without him quite realizing it. “What’s that supposed to be?” he asks, his voice coming flat and raspy, his throat feeling scratchy and raw, and he wonders just when he’s last talked to another human being. 

The absence of reaction to that is what confuses Neil the most; “Money,” the man simply says, and just continues standing there, arms hanging at his sides, posture relaxed, his expression neutral, and maybe only a little too blank.

“I can see that.” Neil doesn’t roll his eyes, but it takes an effort. “But why did you put it in there?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because that’s where Trixie drinks from, maybe?!” 

Now, that gets a reaction, albeit a small one; the man lifts an eyebrow, his lips thinning. 

Before he can think of a response, though, the wagging picks up pace again as soon as the dog hears her name, and this time, Neil doesn’t try to hold her back when she gets up. 

He’s always made a point about not getting into anyone’s way if he can help it, and this dog is no different. It’s stupid, he knows that, but breathing always gets just a little bit harder, his heart heavier, whenever Trixie walks away from him. She’s been good company, and she’s never not come back to him up until now, but if she wants to move on with her life, she’d be free to do so. Neil won’t hold her back, won’t make the same mistakes again, even though he’ll definitely miss the dirty brown fur ball.

This man looks friendly enough, at least, strong and protective, and he probably smells good, too. He looks as though it’s warm wherever he lives, as though you don’t go to bed hungry with him. Which is more than Neil could ever offer this dog, and she deserves it.

“Uh-huh.” The sound is skeptical, as is the look the man sends his way, but there’s an undertone to it that Neil can’t interpret, and then it’s too late anyway. Trixie has come to a halt a step in front of him, and Neil can imagine the look all too well that she’d be now giving him, puppy-eyed and pleading to be petted—it’s been the reason why he’s even tolerated her in the first place, why he’s let her get the scraps from what he’s dug out of containers after dark, that and the way she’d fend off the rats from coming too close every time Neil decides to make his bed in some alleyway or another.

Neil draws up his legs, wraps his arms around them and rests his chin on his knees, leaning back against the crumbly brick wall at his back as he watches them now. It’s both to stop himself from reaching out and to put his hands closer to the small switchblade that he keeps in his boots, a kind of protective instinct he hasn’t known he possesses. But it’s churning in his stomach and a raging storm in his heart and Neil knows that if this man is so much as _looking_ as though he’d hurt Trixie, he’s going to get stabbed. _Hard_. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, there’s another bemused sound that Neil can’t even hope to identify, then the man leans down a little (it isn’t even much; he’s small enough that he only has to bend a little at the knees to comfortably hold out his hand at Trixie’s nose-level).

Neil doesn’t watch any longer. Instead, he says, “Well, you shouldn’t have bothered. I have my own money,” and stares at the cup that has started this in the first place. If he’s honest he’s never even _thought_ about begging, it hasn’t occurred to him as an option, and then he wonders about how much of this has to do with his upbringing. 

His fingers are getting numb, but he can’t stop playing with the seam of his jeans instead of just tucking them into his sleeves where they’d have an easier time to stay warm. There’s too much nervous energy vibrating through his body to keep completely still.

Out of the corner of his eye, Neil sees as the man gives pause before squatting down to be even more on level with Trixie; there’s a pause halfway down, a twitch in his cheek, the smallest of a grimace that Neil knows rather intimately as he’s so familiar with these kinds of things himself; it speaks of suppressed pain and stubbornness, defiance in the face of the inevitable, and he wonders what lies behind it; some old injury maybe, a broken leg or thigh that never healed quite correctly? Neil is rather experienced in these kinds of things. 

“Right,” the man eventually breaks the silence, without stopping to pet the labrador-terrier-mongrel mix, restarts a conversation that Neil has thought long since dead. “And that’s why you’re sitting out here alone on Christmas Eve, because you have so much money to spare.” It’s kind of startling how bored he sounds despite the fact that everything speaks against him being bored; Neil doesn’t think he’d be here anymore otherwise. 

“I’m not alone,” he counters without a thought, because while he might be alone after today, he hasn’t been truly alone for over two months now, and it’s been a blessing. 

“No, you’re not,” the man agrees lightly, and his expression changes when he looks back down at Trixie, who’s now making happy noises  again, because she’s getting petted and she still thinks she’s a cat. Her tail swishes, giving Neil a split-second’s warning of what’s to come, but it’s too late. The man almost loses his balance when Trixie decides that she needs to get even closer and his knit cap slips out of place as his arms flail for balance, causing a shock of white-blond hair to peek out from underneath it and that’s when the realization finally slams home. 

He knows this man. Knows his swing with a borrowed Exy racquet, knows his trade-mark salute, and like a physical dejà-vu, he suddenly finds his lungs empty of air. 

Hysterically, the blank look and the stiff hip immediately make sense now, the way he gives away his money so seemingly carelessly. 

It’s Andrew Minyard. 

Retired from the US National Exy team and the Atlanta NightHawks due to an accident that destroyed not only his hip but also his professional career, then pursued a higher degree in Criminology, now acting as a professor at a local university, frequently donating money to various charities, vehemently going against child abuse and generally fighting for a better foster care system. Or that’s what the papers said about him, at least, he last time Neil’s read them.

And, if they’re to be trusted, it probably even makes sense for this man to give Neil the money without a question; he doesn’t really look his age, especially as dirty and wrapped up in a too large, ratty winter coat as he is, and to be sitting out on the streets on Christmas evening without a betterment in sight, it’s not hard for someone with a personal history of abuse and neglect to see similarities first, and maybe want to do something against it, to improve a life where he can. Not that Neil would know about these kinds of stuff. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” the man—Andrew—says, effectively snapping Neil out of his quickly-spiraling thoughts.

He blinks, tilts his head to the side, frowns. “Like what?”

Andrew gently pushes Trixie’s head out of the way before he answers, ignoring her attempts at head-butting his hand in order to make him keep stroking her. Or maybe that twist of her head means that she’s sniffing his pockets for food, that’s another possibility that’s best never to be forgotten about. 

“You’re not a cat, Trixie,” Neil reminds her automatically, can’t help himself, because they’ve been through this and she still doesn’t get it. “Dogs don’t show their affection like that. And no, you also can’t purr. Stop trying it.” 

The stray comes waddling back to him at that, tongue hanging side-ways out of her mouth, her gait tilting a little to the right like usual, because she seems to have learned that it earns her pity-points when she dramatically pronounces the fact that she’s only in possession of three legs. 

“You’re such a drama queen,” Neil chides when she _does_ rub her face against his the moment he’s within reach. Trixie huffs at that, a sound that’s not quite a bark and _definitely_ not a purr, but it earns her some scratches between the ears anyway. 

The rain has fully turned into snow by the time Neil looks up again, big, feathery flakes that fall from the sky and immediately cling to everything; Andrew has gotten up and he has his eyes carefully trained on his watch now, his expression once again a little too blank for Neil’s taste, but he still hasn’t left yet. 

Neil sighs. “What are you still doing here?”

When Andrew looks up, there’s something like hesitance crossing his features; a furrow of the brow, a faraway gaze, then he presses his lips together and the completive look vanishes, replaced by a strange kind of determination. “Your dog is very clingy,” he says out of nowhere, immediately followed by, “Also, because of you I’m running late. So we better get going now.”

“What?”

“You’re hungry. Your dog is hungry. I have food. A place where it’s warm.”

Neil squints, wondering if maybe he’s been wrong and it’s not Andrew Minyard after all, but someone else with a hidden camera somewhere who’s going to make fun of him any time now. “Why?” he asks, when several seconds pass and nothing happens except for Andrew’s look intensifying and the snow falling more densely. 

“Because it looks like your dog won’t leave me alone otherwise. Also, I think I already listed some pretty good arguments.” 

There’s not much intonation in Andrew’s voice that would give away what’s he’s really thinking, but he’s right in both points, unfortunately. 

Neil glares, but it’s halfhearted at best. And it’s a lost cause because Trixie has heard the word food and her entire body is shaking with the force of her tail-wagging, and of course that’s the moment his own stomach chooses to let out a loud growl. Neil sighs. “How much?” he asks, mentally going through how much money he could spare just for one meal, because if this isn’t about money in any way he’d better stay out of it.

“I don’t need your money. That would be pretty contradictory anyway, wouldn’t it, considering I just…” Andrew nudges the no-longer-empty coffee with his foot, and Neil realizes that he’s forgotten all about it already. He’s strangely grateful for the fact that Andrew didn’t decide to articulate just what he did when they both know what he’s talking about, and it doesn’t make any sense. 

But Trixie is whining up at Andrew and this is going to get real annoying real quick, so they’ll have to find a solution or Andrew will just have to go alone. 

“Then what do you want?”

Andrew appears to be biting his tongue for a moment there, then he takes a breath and says, “How about we discuss this later? Depending on how much you eat, you really don’t have to pay anything. Renee always makes too much food,  I’m sure we won’t even notice that there’s another mouth to feed. Also, there are the cats, and I think we’ve even got dog food lying around somewhere, so.” He stops, looks down at Trixie, tries to ignore her and fails. “Your dog looks ready to devour me, so I think I’m offering mostly out of my own best interest,” he notes dryly, though that ice in his voice is cracking slowly.

Neil’s head swims, overwhelmed with the task to try and figure out how much of this is the truth and what is made up. “Stop saying ‘your dog’,” he deflects instead. “She’s not my dog.”

“No?” Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Did you steal her, then?”

“No. She’s nobody’s but her own. I don’t make her do anything.” Neil hesitates, thinks about stopping here, but in the end he can’t make himself take the easy way out. He never could. “So. Like. If it really bothers you. Feel free to take her home with you if you want. She’ll eat without me there, she’s a great dog. Actually likes dog food better than humans, don’t worry. So. Don’t think just because you’ve stopped to talk to me you’re now kind of responsible for me or something. I’m an adult, I can look after myself, and you’re doing enough charity work anyway, you don’t need the extra karma to have to burden yourself with me.” 

Even as he’s saying this, mentally already saying goodbye to the prospect of a warm meal that has seemed so inviting before, Neil’s stomach grumbles at the thought of it, of real food, something warm and rich, but he knows that it will only get worse afterwards, when he’s tasted it and then won’t have it available any longer. Sometimes nothing is better than a little; not even trying better than fighting and losing still. 

Life hurts less that way, Neil has learned. 

You can’t get let down if you expect nothing from anyone, Neil has come to understand. 

Because humans generally aren’t to be trusted, Neil has known from the start. 

Andrew Joseph Minyard sure as fuck isn’t an exception. No matter how much he has come around in the last year, how he’s begin to open up and talk about his own traumatic childhood in order to raise awareness, no matter how many abusive bastards he calls out, how many children he saves. Neil doesn’t meet people that are good for the sake of being good; everybody wants something or another and Neil has he feeling that he won’t be able to pay Andrew Minyard’s price. 

“Don’t be difficult,” Andrew says, simple words that can come to mean something else entirely, because while Andrew’s voice is bland like an empty sheet of paper, Neil knows all about the secret, invisible messages that can hide there written in lemon juice and water (that they only come to light when they _burn_ ). 

He swallows. Refuses to back down entirely. “I’m not.”

“Kid—” Andrew starts, and _nope, absolutely not_.

“I’m a year younger than you,” Neil interrupts him before he thinks it through.

“Great. So you do know who I am. Whatever you think I will expect of you in repayment, it won’t happen. No ulterior motives other than wanting to help out of the good of my heart.”

“ _Now_ you’re being sarcastic.”

“Well spotted. Congratulations. Now come on, I won’t repeat myself again. I’m late for Christmas dinner. Because of you. People won’t believe me when I tell them the truth without bringing you as proof, and then they’ll be on my case for the whole evening. I’d rather spare myself the pain. So. Let’s go. You also just can come by, stand there, be proof, and then leave through the back door with or without the food, I don’t care.  I’m being purely selfish here, believe me.”

“Alright.” It does sound reasonable, doesn’t it? And even if it weren’t, if there were some kind of trap that Neil hasn’t seen yet, he’d still have his switch blade in his boot and a handgun in his backpack, and if worst should come to worst, Trixie would be there and it wouldn’t be the first time for her to bite someone in the ass for trying to do wrong by Neil. “I’m coming.”

 


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and they walk into the foxhole
> 
>  
> 
> plot twist: neil is fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh wow!  
> thank you all for all your kind comments. I'm really glad you seem to enjoy my little christmas au (it's really not little. i've got so many ideas for this that i don't really want... help). 
> 
> as for the questions some of asked in the last chapter; i think quite a few of them get answered here? and I'll make sure to try and address the rest of them in the following chapters :) 
> 
>  
> 
> hope you like this one as well :)  
> and maybe requiemofkings will eventually find her way here..

It proves to be a little more difficult than that, because Neil’s legs are numb with cold and stiff from disuse, and, _yes_ , there’s that bullet wound coming back to bite him in the ass, making his right shoulder pretty much unmovable, but Andrew really doesn’t need to know all that. It’s enough that he sends Neil a sideways glance when Trixie whines softly at his side, pushing her nose up under his hand as though that’d help him get steadier on his feet, as though that barely knee-high dog would have any chance of holding him up should he fall. 

Neil still appreciates the sentiment.

Eventually, with the cup reluctantly put away in Neil’s backpack, they’re walking, downtown probably, Neil isn’t too sure about it, as his sight blurs out a little in these few moments before the blood properly gets flowing though his body. He does start to get antsy when they’re approaching the subway station though, fidgeting with the straps of his bag that are worn out from too much pent up energy anyway, his fingers hurting from the cold and shaking, because that’s too much there, too many people and too many cameras, too many variables he can’t take into account and that’s not even beginning to think about Trixie. 

“Relax,” Andrew says and doesn’t look at Neil. He could be talking about the weather, if one were to judge only from the tone of his voice. “We’re not taking the train.”

‘ _Great_ ,’ Neil doesn’t say because he suspects would hold a little too much relief, so he only nods in acknowledgement, but doesn’t react other  than that.

There’s silence for a while, at least between them, because otherwise the streets are alive with horrible Christmas music and cheery people talking cheerily, and then Andrew says, “I know that look, you know? You’re stubborn enough to leave the money on the doorsteps if it came down to it, so how about this: I’ll trade you. No paying for food with money, I really have got enough of that. But I’d take some honesty instead. Answer my questions truthfully and you can stop feeling as though you’d owe me something, alright?”

Trixie barks, the snow is cold and wet and it makes Neil’s cheeks flush and nose feel frozen, his brain having a hard time to catch up. He’s always rather taken pride in his ability to remain unreadable and though he knows Andrew is anything but usual, he didn’t think that the other man would be able to see through him so easily. 

“What?” he croaks and sneezes promptly, which serves as a great remainder of the cold he knows is just waiting around the corner and for which he’ll probably need some medicine if he doesn’t want to end up half-dead on a street corner again. It would probably be the most sensible thing to do to just accept the charity offered and save the little money that he has within reach at the moment for that medicine and a motel room to find a home in during the really cold days, but Neil _is_ stubborn and he has to admit that he wouldn’t have been able to leave it at that without making sure that his debts are paid off in some way or another. So it’s really convenient of Andrew to offer this trade, almost suspiciously so. But Neil is tired and cold and feeling the urge to spite himself, so he just throws a quick glance at Andrew and nods before he can think better of it. “Fine.”

“Great. So whom are you running from?” 

Neil laughs, and it’s a choked off sound. He blames it on the cold he’s caught, doesn’t bother to regret his decision despite the sudden pressure in his chest. “Going straight for the jugular, aren’t we?”

Andrew’s stare says he disapproves of the sarcasm, and Neil can’t blame him. He’s smart enough to realize just how many people that probably Andrew works with on the daily are in great denial of their abuse and thus probably come up with the most ridiculous excuses or deflection maneuvers, and something about the prospect of warm food, about the feeling of another human being walking next to him makes Neil want to not be one of these people. He has been through a lot of shit, and that’s just it. No need to hide it, not when this day already has such a bizarre feeling to it that Neil wonders whether he’s not just dreaming it up entirely.

For once in his life, he decides to take the risk. Not because Andrew used to play pro and on a college team with Kevin Day, not because of what he’s doing now, and not even because of what he himself has gone through in the past. Mostly, Neil just comes out with it because he’s tired. Because he’s been alone for almost seven years now, because there’s only so long someone can stay silent. Because he thinks he may lose his mind if he doesn’t. It all comes together in a big mishmash of emotions Neil really doesn’t want to deal with, so he just takes a breath and says, calmly, “My father.”

Andrew doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look at him with pity in his eyes or as though he has any intention to go find this father and tell him where his son is. If there’s anything in these hazel eyes that Neil can make out, then it’s vague understanding, at most. Andrew just tilts his head to the side, nodding slightly and contemplating his next question.

“What’s your name?”

This time, the lie is the only available truth for the moment. “Neil Josten,” he says, and Andrew just searches his gaze and holds it. He doesn’t look as though he believes him, but he also doesn’t look as though he’d call him out on it either. If he recognizes the name or even remembers him, he doesn’t let it show on his face. That’s fine. 

“And the dog’s?”

“I call her Trixie,” Neil answers because he doesn’t actually know her name, isn’t sure if she’s ever had one before. He looks down at her at that, and she pants up at him, her tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth as she crowds closer to his legs for a moment before running ahead again, trying and failing to catch a particularly big snowflake. Neil smiles and Andrew clears his throat.

“Alright, so how are you with noise? The people we’re going to, they’re noisy. In every definition of the word. So, like, if you’re not okay with that you should tell me now so we can go in through the back, scope out the situation first.”

Neil hesitates, then he shakes his head. “I don’t care.”

“And Trixie?” Andrew tries the name as though it tastes strange on his tongue, and he looks away quickly when the dog comes bounding over to him in the assumption he’s called her.

“She’ll be fine,” says Neil, and he’s actually sure of that. At least more sure than of his own fine-ness. He hasn’t been around many people for so long he has no idea how he’s going to react. 

“Great.” 

There’s silence for a minute as they walk around another street corner, the snow falling much heavier now; the last few passers-by are running to get inside, but Neil and Andrew continue to walk at a leisurely pace, unhurried despite Andrew’s claims to be way too late. They don’t talk anymore before there’s a café coming up ahead, its neon sign naming it ‘The Foxhole’, and Neil thinks he knows where they’re going now. 

He’s right. Can’t hold back a twitch of his lips because it seems kind of predictable, and also the neon-sign is blinking in rainbow colors, the large windows decorated with an assortment of Fox and Exy related yet Christmas-y stuff, and it looks _nice_. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised, how he could have expected otherwise. But it probably has to do with the way Andrew looks everything but ready for a Christmas party.

Andrew comes to a halt in front of the vintage glass doors, glaring for a moment at the piece of paper that hangs there, saying ‘ _private function. will reopen on December 26_ _th_ ,’ in Times New Roman, and then, on a post-it stuck underneath it, ‘ _Andrew, you’re late. You owe me 5$,_ ’ in messy handwriting, adorned with a winking smiley-face and an addendum of ‘ _Pay up, bitch_ ’, which positively destroys the professional look of the whole thing. 

“ _Nicky, du kleine Pfeife_ ,” Andrew mutters under his breath, and Neil only barely hides his flinch at the unexpected German, but then Andrew already opens the door with a grand gesture, not bothering to take off the note, and says, “Here we are. Welcome to the Foxhole.” For a moment, his grin has a shark-like twist to it, then it vanishes again completely. Neil finds himself missing it. 

Trixie barks happily when they’re stepping inside, and Neil finds himself bending down to really hold her back this time, because while she won’t have any problems with the people here, Neil hasn’t actually considered the people maybe having a problem with a dog in here, so he’d like to play it safe, just in case. 

“Andrew?” a voice calls out from a room just out of sight, “Is that you?” 

“Yes,” Andrew says back. “And I brought a guest, so play nice, idiots.”

“A guest?” That’s another voice, and it raises about an octave at the end of the question, followed by frantic scrambling and what’s presumably a chair falling over before a dark curly head peeks around the corner, earning even more tail-wagging on Trixie’s part. 

“Yes,” Andrew deadpans, waving his hand at Neil before shrugging out of his coat, handing it off to the new person without bothering to acknowledge their scandalized look. 

Neil gives a little wave, feeling strangely awkward and incredibly underdressed all of a sudden, because Andrew is wearing a black button-down with tie underneath his coat, and the other guy wears a soft-pink dress-shirt, complete with pants that look more expensive than all that Neil’ owns taken together. And Neil doesn’t even remember when he’s last changed clothes. He thinks he has a spare pair of jeans in his backpack somewhere, but the last shirt met its end when he’s used it for the wound dressing on his shoulder, so when the dark-skinned guy now gives him an open-mouthed once over and then wordlessly holds out his hand to take Neil’s coat too, he just shakes his head and wraps it tighter around himself. 

It’s better that way. Especially in case he’d have to leave suddenly, he’d rather not have to stop to go retrieve his coat, and going out without it is really not an option in this weather. 

The guy sends him a slightly shaky smile and then sets off to go hang up the coat, almost tripping over Trixie in the process. “Oh my God!” he gasps, stunned confusion finally forgotten, and Neil takes it as a good sign that he sounds delighted. The toothy grin that now covers his face helps with that impression, of course. “You’ve got a dog?”

Neil nods again, not even trying to explain that _Trixie isn’t his_ this time, and when the guy bends down to pet her, Neil takes a few steps forward, into the direction Andrew has disappeared into, deciding to let Trixie have her way. 

Something smells heavenly and it makes his stomach painfully aware of the fact that it hasn’t seen a proper meal in weeks, but it isn’t quite growling yet, at least. His hands still shake where he’s hidden them inside of his coat pockets when he realizes just how many people are present. And he recognizes almost all of them. 

The blood freezes in his veins and he’s only prevented from falling into a panic attack when Trixie comes barreling into his legs from behind, a trick she’s learned early on since it always results in her getting his attention, and distracting him from whatever is bothering him. 

Of course, though. Neil should have expected it. And then he wonders why Andrew hasn’t actually recognized him. Or if he did and purposefully didn’t say anything. And then he remembers that he doesn’t look quite the way he did seven years ago although he never quite managed to let go of this name, the only one that ever meant something to people that didn’t know him, the only one that held any kind of future. A future he’d abandoned for ensuring his own survival. 

His mind is a mess as he tries to process the situation, and he feels kind of light-headed for a moment as over a dozen pairs of eyes are trained on him, each of them he could have known if life was different for him, and then Trixie’s cold nose pressing against his palm finally rips him out of his stupor. 

Neil blinks, breathes, and raises his hand again, giving an awkward wave accompanied by a only a little hoarse “Hi.”

“Hi there!” the infamous Renee Walker says, her smile open and friendly as she leans against a tall, blonde woman who has her arm slung around the former’s shoulders and is mustering Neil with a skeptically raised eyebrow. 

“Out of which hole did you dig this one out, again?” she asks, and it’s not unfriendly. 

Andrew doesn’t bother to answer, though, opting to stuff his face with a muffin instead, stolen from a tray that’s sitting on the café’s countertop which separates the eating area from the bar and kitchen, and now Neil’s stomach _does_ growl. Trixie makes another one of her wannabe-purring sounds, and now that she’s sure he’ll be okay for the moment she happily turns away from Neil to go inspect the other people present and Neil reacts a second too late to hold her back this time. 

“Don’t worry about it,” the silvery white-haired woman says, gesturing towards a sign that hangs next to the pricing tables. “We’re animal-friendly here.”

“Thank you,” Neil mutters, startling when suddenly a muffin comes flying at him, and he reaches up to catch it without a second’s thought. He frowns down at it, looking up to see Andrew wiggling his fingers at him, saying “ _eat that before you fall out of your clothes. Dinner’s only in half an hour._ ” Before Neil can reply that, for one, he doesn’t really like sweets and for two, this sugary thing would last him a whole day probably, someone else is whistling lowly. 

“Good reflexes,” Kevin Day says. “Ever thought about playing Exy?” 

While that earns him a collective groan from everyone present, it also succeeds in making Neil’s heart stutter to a stop in his chest, and suddenly he’s got trouble breathing. 

“I,” he stammers, all stupid courage and resolve leaving him at once. “You know what? I—I’ve really got to go. This was a bad idea.” 

Now that it’s beating again, his heart is galloping, trying to escape the confinement of his ribcage so desperately it hurts, and he’s torn between calling Trixie to him and just leaving her here because he knows that these people would look after her, and honestly, she’d be in better hands here, never again having to spend day and night in the cold, constantly hungry and alone. But then again he doesn’t want to abandon her, because he knows how abandonment feels like, being left without a direction to orient yourself in and he really doesn’t—

His mind is running in circles, catching on senseless topics as there’s an undercurrent of fear, pure, unadulterated panic, because he’s going against everything his mother every taught him, isn’t he? He’s betraying her trust and not appreciating her sacrifice, he’s looking back and slowing down and _what if_ — 

“Hey, c’mon, Neil, breathe,” someone says then, and there’s a weight on the back of his neck that takes him out of his head, that makes him startle and tense before he recognizes Andrew’s voice, and then there’s pain because Andrew’s arm is brushing his shoulder where he’s reaching up to curl his fingers around Neil’s neck, to press his head down a little, try to help him breathe, but, fuck, that _hurts_. 

He must have hissed or otherwise made a sound because Andrew immediately draws back as though he’s burned himself, hands lifted and a carefully blank look on his face. Neil drags in a ragged breath and it rattles in his chest, cage open and heart on the run, but he imagines he can breathe away the pain like this, push it away with every exhalation. 

“Sorry,” he says through clenched teeth. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Are you hurt?” an older woman interrupts him before he can even finish his own thought, her brows furrowed in concern as she tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear, looking torn between approaching Neil and staying where she is. 

“I’m fine,” Neil says, and when that only earns him disbelieving half-glares, he adds, “Really. It’s nothing.” He accidentally meets Andrew’s eye just then, gives a half-sigh because of what he finds there and finishes with, “I merely got shot.”

“You merely _what_?!” Neil didn’t need to know that a woman’s voice could reach such a high note when it’s not screaming in pain. And she’s not the only one, there are several people exclaiming at his statement, and Neil doesn’t quite understand. He frowns. Plenty of people get shot on the daily, don’t they? It isn’t that unusual.

“I… got shot?” he repeats, wondering if maybe she just didn’t understand what he said. 

“When?” the woman asks then, and something in her voice makes her seem infinitely older than the barely fifty-five she looks to be. She apparently has opted for the former option, too, as she’s leaving her place in the kitchen doorway, retrieving a first aid kid from behind the bar somewhere, before she eventually approaches Neil and Andrew where they’re still standing in the entry area. Someone who looks suspiciously like an exact copy of Andrew, except for the hairstyle and the arm bands maybe, joins her after some deliberation, the excited glint in his eyes and the whispered German “ _Ich habe noch nie eine Schusswunde von Nahem gesehen_ ” making Neil feel rather skeptical about this. 

He’s more concerned with Kevin though, who stares at him as though he’s trying to figure something out and Neil knows it’s only a matter of time, because Kevin can’t possibly be so stupid. Honesty. That’s a thing now, apparently, so he takes a breath, grins lopsidedly and says, “Hello, Kevin. Long time no see, right?” 

Andrew turns to stare at him too, now, his gaze suddenly piercing. “Neil Josten,” he says, and the name sounds different than before, tinted with recognition and something else. “Of fucking course.”

Kevin gapes. His hand shakes when he runs it through his hair. He doesn’t seem to be breathing. “Neil Josten?” He exhales, looks closer. “But—No, you’re—it’ can’t be, you—Nathaniel? Is that really you?” 

“I’m afraid so.” Neil grimaces a little as he confirms it, not having expected Kevin to catch on quite that quickly, and while a part of him is afraid to truly find out whether or not Kevin’s loyalties still lie with the Moriyamas, the other part just finds it really hard to find a fuck to give. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” Danielle Wilds apparently does have no such qualms, she’s gotten up from where she’s been lounging on one of the chairs scattered around the room, and though she doesn’t exactly do anything, Neil feels the balance in the air shift. It’s like her reaction is kick-starting all the other people too, and suddenly there’s movement everywhere, voices rising and several conversations picking up at the same time, and it’s chaos. 

David Wymack's voice is one of the only ones heard above the ruckus, as he crosses his arms in front of his chest but keeps learning against the doorframe to the kitchen. “I would like to know that too.” 

“And while we’re at it, I’d like to mention that _I_ would like to know why you never mentioned something about your boyfriend before, Andrew. I’m appalled.” That’s the guy that’s come to take their coats, and Neil thinks he now remembers him to be the Minyard’s cousin, despite the fact that they literally look nothing alike. 

Aaron’s “ _What the fuck, Nicky?_ ” seems to confirm Neil’s suspicion though, and then he looses track of what’s going on, because Kevin is stepping closer and Neil really doesn’t know what to do, can’t tear his eyes away from Kevin Day. 

That’s the boy he’s envied for all his life, the one that got away, until it turned out he didn’t, not really, but still; it’s the one with the future that Neil didn’t— _doesn’t_ —have. Never had had and never will have. But he’s still alive, which is more than he’s ever thought possible, so there’s that. 

“Why did you run?” Kevin eventually asks, and the background noise dies down immediately. Or at least the rushing in Neil’s ears stops as he finally finds some even ground again, because that’s a question he has an answer to. 

“Why would I have stayed?”

“You could have been something. You don’t play like that and just give up!”

“Oh!” Nicky interjects, clapping his hands excitedly. “Now I remember! You were the one that Kevin was obsessed with. ‘ _He plays as though he has to lose everything_.’ Right? God, Kevin, you were _awful_ when he didn’t show up again. How long did it take you to get over it, again?” 

Neil throws a side-ways glance at the chattery guy before gesturing at him, looking back at Kevin. “There you have it. I did have to lose everything. Couldn’t risk it. Don’t regret it.” 

That earns him a disbelieving snort from Andrew’s twin, his features twisted in something resembling vague disgust. “‘ _Don’t regret it_ ’? How can you say that with a straight face? Have you even looked at yourself?”

Neil slants a wry look at him and debates just not reacting, but really, to hell with it. It’s Christmas. He can allow himself to have some fun. Whereas ‘fun’ is very subjective; it’s just amusing to the how some people react when Neil doesn’t lie for once. Not that is has happened often until now, but who cares? Neil certainly can’t bring himself to at the moment. “At least I’m alive right now, aren’t I? As opposed to what I’d be if I waited for Kevin to recognize me back then. So no. No regrets.” 

Aaron’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and he doesn’t seem so interested in looking at Neil’s bullet wound anymore. 

And that’s the moment Trixie choses to sneeze heartily so that her entire body jumps, and Neil can’t help his reaction; he’s become attached to this dog way too quickly, and it’s become second nature to immediately check if she’s alright, make sure she’s not sick or up to otherwise stupid stuff that will get her or the both of them into unnecessary trouble. 

He clicks his tongue and squats down, wiggling with his fingers as he holds out his hand; immediately, the dog comes traipsing over, tail held high and panting happily, and she proves her mindset of being a cat when she head-butts him once again, growling a little, before coming even closer to lick his nose. “ _Trixie_ ,” Neil chides with a grin as he wipes her drool away, “Really, how many times do I have to tell you? You are not a cat. And your breath stinks.”

Trixie huffs in apparent outrage as Neil gently takes hold of her face and pushes it away from his, but that only prompts her to pull her usual trick and turn her body around, wriggling backwards until her butt comes to a halt between his legs, front paws aligned with his toes, her warm back pressed up against him from crotch to stomach to chest. When they’re alone in an alleyway it’s a great way to keep warm, but then Neil usually has a wall at his back—right now it just results in him losing his balance and falling over backwards. 

“Ouch,” he swears, because _hell_ , his shoulder is still hurting somewhat horrible, and Trixie makes immediate use of his new supine position, climbing all over him before draping herself across his chest, panting happily into his face. “Breath,” Neil huffs. “Really. You stink, mongrel.” 

“Yeah, nope, my decision’s made and you won’t be able to convince me otherwise,” Matt Boyd announces then, or at least Neil thinks it’s the ex-backliner. He can’t quite see anything. “We’re keeping him.”

Nicky squeals. “Yes! Thank you.”

“Matt, honey, no, you can’t just—”

“I have no idea what’s happening here,” comes Kevin’s voice, slow and cautious, as though he expects to be confronted with a hidden camera any moment now. 

“You and me both, son.” That’s the Palmetto State Foxes’ ex-coach, and what he mentions so casually now is something that has caused head-lines in the papers for weeks when it first became public knowledge. Neil remembers it particularly well because these papers were everywhere, afterwards, and Neil often used them as a cover for the colder nights in Indiana before he’d ventured down to Texas for a while. That’s years ago now, and the memories almost seem surreal now. Or rather, this whole thing here does, to be honest.

“Trixie,” Andrew calls out softly then, though there’s no actual intonation in his voice. Still, the dog’s ears perk at once and she gets her damp nose out of Neil’s face at least, so there’s that. 

“Yes, listen to him and get off me, you little menace,” Neil encourages her quietly because this is a very uncomfortable and admittedly awkward position, and he really should have ducked that second earlier to avoid that fucking bullet. 

“C’mere,” Andrew beckons, and he’s setting down a bowl of water (and why didn’t Neil think of doing this before?), which naturally attracts Trixie’s interest so she gets up clumsily, not without poking her paws into all of Neil’s soft and vulnerable places, and ambles over to the blond ex-goalie. Neil stays where he is for a moment still, just breathing, before he rubs a hand over his face to try and get rid of the last of Trixie’s slobber and of his tiredness as well, sighing. 

He wonders where he’ll be when he opens his eyes; judging from the way the whole day has felt like, Neil wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to have been a dream. He can’t imagine how it’ll possibly go on from here, what else is going to happen now, but there’s something small and strange in him that is kind of eager to find out. 

It’s a glimpse into a life so foreign and new it’s staggering, and while he does know that this is not something he’ll ever get to have, it’s thrilling to just be a part of it right now, thrilling and addicting and he thinks he’ll try to enjoy it while it lasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes.  
> i couldn't resist... :)
> 
> let me know what you think!


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil continues to be fine, some truths are told, mysteries unraveled and families united...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first things first: i am a horrible, horrible person. weekend’s already three days away and here’s the third part, finally, at last. I don’t have much excuses other than laziness and christmas-cookie baking and work and studying for exams…  
> well. sorry that it's so late, but i do hope that you still enjoy it, even though there's not actually much happening. 
> 
> but, a lot of you seemed to love my version of neil 'i merely was shot' josten, so there's a little more of that mind-set. 
> 
> enjoy

His shoulder still hurts, though. And the back of his head too, where he’s smacked it into the floor with gusto, thanks to Trixie. 

“Will you let me help you?” the woman with the first-aid kit asks then,  drawing him out of his thoughts, and when he looks up she’s still a save distance away, obviously waiting for his approval. Neil can’t quite remember the last time someone showed such unlimited respect for his boundaries, hell, showed respect _at all_ , let alone accepting them without unnecessary questions and that makes his choice considerably easier. After all, if there isn’t anything else he’s going to get to keep from this bizarre day, the least he can do is make sure that he won’t die from a measly bullet wound within the next twenty-four hours. 

So he says “ _Sure_ ” and sits up quickly, blinks rapidly when black spots dance in from top his vision for a moment or two, head throbbing, blood rushing in his ears, then he begins to carefully shrug out of his coat, drapes it across his lap where he’s still sitting cross-legged on the floor without much preamble. Best get it over with as soon as possible.

“Here?” the nurse asks, surprise coloring her voice as her eyebrows almost creep up into her hairline. Is she even a real nurse? Neil sure hopes so; then again, his mother wasn’t really a nurse either and she knew how to stitch her wounds and treat some other, more gruesome injuries, so Neil probably isn’t one to judge. 

“Sure,” Neil says, and there’s only a slight strain in his voice; he bites his lip a bit harder than intentioned when he tries to get his shirt off as well and it _sticks_.

“Dammit,” he mutters, takes a breath, and, before the nurse can get a stupid idea such as offering her help or something, he yanks at the hem of his shirt, pulling it upward in a mostly fluid motion. His breath stutters, though, shaky on the exhale when the fabric does come off now, and what feels like a pretty large patch of skin with it. It only feels like it, though, because Neil isn’t an idiot (not a _complete_ idiot, at least), and he actually did wrap the wound after he got it, and he even used his cleanest shirt for it. That doesn’t make it hurt any less, though. 

Somewhere in between his eighteen-year-old self that used to always shower last and alone in order to avoid anyone asking questions, and his present self that wastes his life away on the streets in the company of a three-legged dog he’s lost his sense of inhibition and has come to learn that people are actually less likely to confront him about his scars when he’s almost provocatively open about them; matter-of-factly shoving them in people’s face without searching for eye contact doesn’t make them think he just does it for attention and also serves to discourage even most of the actually well-meaning people. It doesn’t always work for everyone, of course, but up until now he’s fared pretty well with that tactic. 

Now, there’s the weight of a whole room of stranger’s eyes on him, and because most of them have been Foxes at some point in their lives—and Neil knows the stories to be true—they all can draw their own conclusions as to why his body might look the way it does. He doesn’t care.

“I’m Abigail Winfield, by the way, but you can call me Abby,” the woman says softly when she finally manages to tear her eyes away from his scars and kneel down next to him. She doesn’t comment otherwise, and while there’s something painful in her eyes, there’s no pity visible. Neil finds himself feeling grateful for that small mercy; yet another kindness he wonders whether he deserves it at all. 

“Neil Josten,” Neil provides automatically, shoving these kinds of thoughts into the very back of his mind, and the woman— _Abby_ —throws him a quick smile before starting to rummage around in the medical kit. 

“Yeah,” she laughs, “I kind of concluded that. You caused quite a bit of ruckus when you bolted like that back then, you know? Nobody knew where you were and Kevin really was about this far away from going crazy.” She holds out thumb and index finger of her right hand, about a finger width apart, laughs quietly, and then goes back to taking out various things, arranging them on the floor next to her. She ignores Kevin’s half-hearted protest, and just smiles serenely. “Anyway. I’m really glad Andrew brought you with him today. I was already worried that we’d get away with celebrating a quiet Christmas without any kind of drama this year.”

“I’m sorry,” Neil says, because it kind of feels as though he should.

“Nonsense.” Abby’s voice is gentle, and then she’s reaching out to his shoulder, carefully prying off the makeshift bandage to inspect the wound. 

Neil doesn’t look at her, but he hears the small _pop_ of her mouth falling open; several of the others turn away to quietly converse among themselves while Andrew’s twin and his girlfriend? wife? are slowly drifting closer, because apparently Aaron was completely serious in his earlier statement; he seems to have decided to not miss the chance to see a bullet wound up close, and the light in the brunette’s eyes is just as intrigued. 

“Did you, uh, did you already see someone about this?” Abby asks, and the uncertainty in her voice makes Neil gaze at her after all. The strain of looking over his injured right shoulder sends a twinge of pain up and down Neil’s back, echoing in his head, but he doesn’t wince. 

“No, I—no. Why do mean?”

“Who stitched this, then?”

“Why? Is it bad? I mean, it’s not ideal, obviously, but I tried to get it together as well as I could—it was only a flesh-wound, really, and I didn’t think I had to—” Neil cuts himself off when he notices the look on Abby’s face, frowns. “ _What?_ ”

“Are you kidding me? Abby, is he kidding—” Aaron says, and he sounds floored. He glances at the woman at his side before looking back at Neil, searching for words, gesticulating wildly. His eyes are almost comically wide, and Neil isn’t sure whether or not he only imagines hearing Andrew’s quiet, almost-amused snort. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m serious.” 

“You didn’t use any local anesthesia, though, did you?” That’s Abby again, and while she does her best to keep her voice professional, she can’t help the undertone of _something else_.

Neil scrunches up his nose in confusion. “Where would I get that from? Couple swigs of alcohol, that’s how we’ve always done it.” 

“You’re crazy,” Aaron states, and he sounds very sure. Neil doesn’t bother to protest, not only because he doesn’t quite know if he has any proof that’d contradict that statement, but also because Aaron looks content to be shutting up for now. “Serious, but crazy.” Neil might be wrong, but he thinks to detect a little awe in his voice just then, in spite of everything.

Still, Neil’s first instinct is to consider sticking his tongue out at Aaron or maybe flipping him the bird, because _fuck you and do it better_ , but Andrew takes care of that by swatting his twin on the back of his head, telling him to ‘ _shut up’_ with no real heat behind the words. First come, first served—or something like that.

Also, Abby is now dabbing disinfectant onto his wound with gentle motions, obviously trying not to startle or hurt him further, and Neil doesn’t have the heart to tell her that this kind of pain is nothing for him. She can probably guess at it, though, since he’s sure she’s not stupid enough to think that he got all his scars in ways that didn’t involve pain. 

“Well, however you did it,” she says, “you did a rather good job of it, considering the circumstances. It’s not quite inflamed yet, and the stitches look as though they’re healing well. When did you say this happened again?”

“‘Bout a week ago.”

“And there aren’t any other injuries?”

“No.” Neil manages to bite back the ‘ _I’m fine_ ’ only because he feels Andrew’s glare on him, and Trixie comes ambling back to him, thirst apparently quenched. 

Abby nods, muttering quietly to herself. Otherwise, there’s silence, then: 

“Why the fuck doesn’t anyone ask how it happened? Like what the fuck did you do to get shot?” Nicky’s looking around his friends with a wild look in his eyes, but none of them quite meet his gaze, let alone answer. So, in a nutshell, they’re probably just as noisy as him, but decent enough people to not ask insensitive questions. Or maybe they’re not brave enough to face possible repercussions. Or something like that. 

But then Neil meets Andrew’s gaze who’s holding yet another muffin, or rather just the paper of it now; he’s licking some leftover frosting off his fingers and raising a questioning eyebrow, and _yes_ , that’s right, Neil promised honesty in exchange for food, and his stomach is definitely twisting now that he knows what he’s missing out on, so he sighs, relents. 

He keeps his gaze locked on Andrew, though, unable to keep his hands still, and he’s trying to get the dirt out from under his nails, suddenly convinced that the blood is still there. 

“Wrong place, wrong time?” he tries, clicks his tongue. “For once it _really_ was just bad luck, I guess? You see, I was sleeping behind some dumpsters when some police officers decided to try and pick up an armed drug dealer in the very same alley. Not the brightest idea, let me tell you, but well, pigs are stupid, and they can’t seem to learn. Anyway, so they started shooting at each other and I guess they aren’t all that great shots, neither the cops nor the druggie, and the bullets were literally flying all over the place instead of just hitting their respective targets. Well. Dumpsters don’t replace bullet proof vests. I’ve learned that.” Neil grins self-depreciatingly, finally tears his eyes away from Andrew’s unimpressed, almost bored face and looks down at his hands just to _really_ make sure that there isn’t any blood. The gunshots seem to reverberate in his ears, his shoulder tingles. 

There are a lot of open mouths after that, but the look on the white-haired woman’s face sends a shiver down Neil’s spine. Yeah, that woman, and the leftovers from someone named Natalie Shields, seems to know all too well what he’s talking about. 

“For once?” Andrew asks before anyone else can say something and Neil smiles another bitter smile. 

“Yeah, well, the other times I got shot at it _was_ mostly my fault. I mean, not _my fault_ in that definition of the word, but, well, I was just usually the reason people were shooting in the first place, you know?”

“What the fuck are you even saying? And why are you telling us all this? Isn’t that incriminating, or something? Andrew, you’re the expert here. Tell him he can’t just say these things.” Tall, dark-skinned and exuding a stupid air of authority, the newest Foxes’ coach has stood up and is watching Neil out of narrowed eyes, though nothing in her posture screams of threat or danger as it would in most other people. 

Andrew flicks her a dismissive look, but otherwise ignores her, and Neil says,“Uh, I thought, Nicky asked—”

“You don’t listen to what Nicky says. He’s not very sensitive—or intelligent, in that case.” Matthew Boyd and Aaron share a fleeting smile as they’ve both had the same thought, said the almost same thing, and they both proceed to ignore Nicky when he takes to protesting once again, but has to admit defeat when even his husband just laughs quietly and pulls him in. Neil looks away. 

“ _Children_ ,” Abby interjects now, having finished with rewrapping Neil’s shoulder in actual bandages, pressing a healing salve into his hand just long enough to convey that ‘ _you’re keeping this and you’ll be using it_ ’ before letting go. Neil doesn’t try to protest. 

“Can you stop bickering now? I thought you were so proud of finally being adults. Act like it. Honestly, every year it’s the same old song. Did at least one of you remember to check the oven or will we be feasting on charred meat or greasy take-out again?” 

“The food looks good, Abby, don’t worry. Renee and Allison took care of it, and Katelyn went to get the kids to set the tables. They’ve played for long enough now.” Danielle smiles, and she looks immediately brighter, friendlier than the fierce woman she was just minutes ago, and Neil thinks that this might be someone he’d come to respect greatly given time. Not that he will. Have much more time, that is. Not that it matters. 

Nine seconds pass, then Trixie suddenly lifts her head from where she’s ended up resting it on Neil’s thighs, watching the procedures with sleepy eyes, of which there’s no trace left now. Her nose goes up in the air, ears twitching, and another second later her tail’s wagging hard enough with excitement that she almost falls over when she tries to get up. Something in Neil’s mind clicks ( _children_ ), and this time he doesn’t hesitate to get her by the collar and hold her back. Now that a warm meal actually seems within reach he doesn’t want to risk it by having Trixie go haywire. And she’s always a little crazy with kids, so.

Right on cue, a door bangs open somewhere in the back, the noise level picks up considerably and then there’s a whole flock of kids streaming inside. 

Two little girls break away from the group, heading straight towards Andrew, and as Neil watches, something in his expression goes oddly soft. 

“Hey there, munchkins,” Andrew says, and there’s something akin to affection in his voice, the smallest of smiles on his lips. For a moment, Neil is convinced that Andrew somehow has managed to hide the fact that he’s got two daughters from the press, and then he realizes that, no, but Andrew has a twin brother who looks just like him, and said twin has a wife, they’re married and obviously have been together for quite some time now, and _that_ makes so much more sense. Especially when the girls come to a halt just a couple of inches in front of Andrew, beaming up at him excitedly, and they’re chattering away about how they have to ‘ _tell you everything, Uncle Andy._ ’ 

They both stop and stare, though, when they catch sight of the brown-checkered labrador mix enthusiastically panting at them, and their eyes light up even more, if that’s possible. One of them, the one who has her hair done up in pigtails, gasps dramatically and clasps her hands in front of her mouth, and it looks as though she’s starting to vibrate on the spot, she’s hopping up and down so fast.

“Careful around the dog,” Aaron’s wife reminds them when it doesn’t look as though anybody else is going to say it, and the girls don’t seem to be able to concentrate on anything else anytime soon. 

Neil looks up at that and catches the brunette’s eye. “She’s fine,” he assures. “They’re fine. Trixie loves kids.” Katelyn smiles at him, and it’s almost natural to return it. 

A corner of Andrew’s mouth lifts when the twins immediately start to giggle and make grabby motions with their chubby hands when Trixie gets up on her paws and slowly approaches them, though not without a look back at Neil, who gives her the go-ahead with a quick nod. It’s always been easier to make himself understood to animals rather than humans. 

“What’s got you grinning like a fool, oh dearest god-father of mine?” says someone with a rather heavy German accent, and when Neil looks up there’s a teenage girl, probably about fourteen years old, who looks at Andrew with a fond smile herself, carrying a small, dark-skinned boy on her hip who starts to wriggle about in order to be let down the moment he catches sight of Matthew. And then the both of them get distracted when Trixie lets out a small woof and enthusiastically plants her butt on the floor, because one of the twins accidentally has used the hand-motion Neil has got into the habit of using in order to make her sit down. 

“I am your only god-father, Clarisse,” Andrew states dryly, smile partly vanished already, but Neil doesn’t think the girl still hears him. 

“Where did you pick up that _gorgeous_ stray?” Clarisse asks instead, halfway across the room with the boy still hanging onto her before Neil can think to warn her. 

Andrew’s “ _Same place I picked up the other one_ ,” goes unheard in the following shriek and whimper, as Trixie almost runs down the twin girls in her haste to get back to Neil and away from the teenager. Yeah, these kinds of children she doesn’t like. Her claws make an awful sound as she’s struggling to find hold on the tiled floor and she only comes to a halt when she practically smashes into the wall at Neil’s back. 

Enviably, Clarisse swallows _that_ down with only a rather well-hidden flinch, her eyes following the dog’s trail of heedless retreat all the way to where Neil’s still sitting and then she smirks, “ _Oh_ , okay, now I can see why you’d do that.” Neil isn’t quite sure what to make of that, but he doesn’t trust the tone of her voice. 

Nicky sounds only mildly scandalized as he exclaims, “Clarisse!”; but the twitching corners of his mouth make it obvious that he has to hold back a grin of his own, even as he struggles for a serious expression, and says, “How often do I have to tell you not to talk like that?”

Clarissa pulls a face, mimicking his words as though it’s not the first time he’s saying it, and still, when he’s finished she whines, “But _Dad_ , you do it all the time! Honestly, I don’t think you really know how to parent, even after all these years.”

“Oh, come on now, you’re not being fair. I did good, even a decade ago when I _really_ had no idea and first got saddled with Aaron and Andrew. And they came out all right, wouldn’t you say?”

That earns him more than one pointed cough and stifled laughs, and Neil can literally see the exact moment Nicky gives up on trying to win this argument. 

“Fine!” he says, throwing his hands up. “But it’s Christmas, we’re supposed to love our family now! For one day, let’s pretend everything is alright, please?” Muttered agreement, which seems to satisfy him, then his eyes land on Neil again, who’s taken to absentmindedly rubbing Trixie’s ears in the attempt to get her to calm down again. He lights up. “Speaking of which! We didn’t get to hear the story about why exactly Andrew brought you with him yet, did we? Why aren’t you with _your_ family? Oh, _oh_ , wait! I know! You’re his boyfriend. Finally. I thought we’d never live to see the day! _Andrew_ , I’m so happy for you! But why didn’t you tell us before? It does make for a great Christmas surprise, though, I have to admit. Oh my god, I’m so excited! I can’t even—” 

“Nicky,” Andrew says. “Shut up.”

Every line in his body is tense, and Neil can see his knuckles whiten in the effort to not let it show, and he doesn’t know _why_ , but he feels the urge to take away at least a bit of the pressure he’s put on the other man simply by existing rather inconveniently, so he says, “ _they’re dead_ ,” with every intention of putting a damper on Nicky’s mood. 

He blinks, still breathing rather heavily from his earlier rant, completely thrown now. “What?”

Neil doesn’t let himself hesitate and starts with, “Dead, gone, deceased, buried, six feet under—”

“I don’t—” Nicky stammers, probably going for ‘ _understand_ ’, but Kevin interrupts him with a “ _Good_ ” that earns him more than one surprised-slash-shocked look. 

“And you’re really sure?” Kevin presses, and Neil thinks he understands that sentiment, the need for confirmation.

“I really wouldn’t be here if I weren’t. You know that.”

“But then why are you living on the streets?”

Neil shrugs. “Don’t want to spend all my money. Economizing the rest of it. Habit. Convenience. Fear. Take your pick.”

“Why fear?”

“Just because my father’s dead doesn’t mean his men are too. Lola’s still out there somewhere. And you know the Moriyamas.”

“Okay,” Wymack says, and the strain in his voice is audible now. The muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them in front of his chest, and he straightens his back. “Someone tell me what the fuck is going on here right now or I’m going to—” He takes a breath, holds it, obviously restraining himself, and on an exhale he pleads, “Just tell me what the fuck he’s talking about, Kevin.”

“Just about the thing you probably think he is,” Kevin answers, much more calmly, and judging by the look on people’s face, that’s not a side of him they get to see often. “Once upon a time, he was supposed to be number three. His mother took him and they fled. He probably thought I’d recognized him when we came to recruit him in Millport, but it was only later, when I’d seen the missing poster they sent us after he got away that I did. I knew that look.”

“But why the fuck are you _glad_ his father’s dead?” 

“Because all these other bullet wounds he’s talked about and even more stuff you can’t begin to imagine is courtesy of exactly that bastard.”

Now, Andrew shifts his weight, just a little. “Kevin,” he says, and while his voice is even, it’s not calm. “Stop talking.” 

Neil doesn’t feel his fingers anymore. For the first time in a long while that’s not because he’s cold—or at least not physically. But he feels the deadened numbness creep up the empty spaces in his bones, seek a way to hold onto him, make itself at home in these dangerous places, because this is definitely something he’s never liked to talk about, and he likes the memories even less. 

Trixie whimpers. Neil doesn’t. 

But he seems to have unconsciously taken hold in the longer strands of her fur, trying to hold onto what little composure he possesses, even though that’s a losing game. He does force himself to untangle his fingers, though, start petting her again, stroking down her back and scratching behind her ears instead of just letting his hand sit there. 

He breathes, listens to his heartbeat, remembers that he’s alive, and his father is not. It’s good. He’s _fine_. 

“Yeah,” Allison agrees, slanting a look at Kevin that holds a surprising amount of warmth considering the words that follow. “There are children present. You really don’t need to traumatize them every time you see them. Just having to put up with you is punishment enough.”

“Har fucking har.” 

“Language!” it sounds from several corners, as though they’ve only realized just now that they’re supposed to be the responsible, grown-up adults here. Neil almost laughs. He doesn’t, though, because air is still something he needs and can’t quite get enough of. 

Kevin throws his hands up angrily, turns around and stalks off, throwing a “ _I’m going to get the potatoes, Abby_ ,” over his shoulder before disappearing in the doorway that Neil assumes leads to the kitchen.

Said woman claps her hands decidedly, as if grateful to be presented with such a convenient distraction, and the smile on her face only wobbles a little. “That’s a great idea!” she says, overly enthusiastic. “Why don’t the children don’t go wash their hands and the adults go wash their hands and help serving the food?”

“Foooood!” one of the twins cries happily, clapping her hands in a mimic of Abby’s gesture, just repeatedly and much more rapidly, before taking her sister by the sleeve and forcefully dragging her away from Andrew, to where all the children are heading now in a chattering stream. 

“Well, that went well!” Nicky states, and, realizing just how wrong that statement is, he doesn’t give anyone a chance to react to it, opting to just follow after Kevin instead. 

“Didn’t it?” Neil asks, and that just earns him pitying looks. _Apparently not_. 

“No,” Andrew answers simply, his voice utterly flat again, and rolls his eyes, posture slightly more relaxed now. He gets up from where he’s sat next to the twins, and Neil tries to ignore the pain he sees reflected in every single one of Andrew’s movements, still hurting from an accident that happened over two years ago. He doesn’t want to imagine what it must have felt like; to have _everything_ only to have it ripped right out of your fingers. But then again, he can’t imagine what it must feel like to be happy in the first place, so. 

“Why did you give up?” The words slip out of his mouth unbidden and  before he’s even aware that his thoughts go in that direction, and then Neil immediately tenses up in anticipation of the reaction, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Andrew’s face; doesn’t dare and doesn’t want to. The man freezes in his movement, and then, after a second or two, he slowly turns around to Neil, his face carefully blank. 

“What?” 

No sense in backing off anymore. “Why did you give up?” Neil asks again, more quietly than the first time. His words still seems too loud in the suddenly-gone-quiet room, but he doesn’t let that deter him. 

“I don’t give up.”

“But you did.”

The pause lasts longer this time. Andrew stares back at Neil and suddenly Neil realizes that they’re not talking about Exy anymore. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here. Don’t talk about things you don’t understand. Don’t assume you understand before you actually do.” 

“Okay,” Neil says and that’s that. He doesn’t have the right to question others when he knows full well that he can’t even manage his own life. There’s a lot of things he isn’t even sure he _wants_ people to understand.

Andrew nods. 

Neil nods back. 

The others stare. 

Then Trixie comes running from the kitchen, a piece of bacon dangling from her mouth, six children and a grown-up chasing after her and that’s enough to dispel the tension for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! hope some more questions are answered? though I'll admit that I haven't thought of _everything_ for this au, I still hope it makes some sense?
> 
>  
> 
> good news: the Christmas-theme will finally appear in the next chapter! yay.  
> bad news: i don't know when it will be ready. sometime this week, hopefully. we'll see. 
> 
> until then, remember that kudos and comments are very greatly appreciated and every single one of them makes my day :)  
> thank you.


	4. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once you pick up a stray, you never set them down again.
> 
> It's Christmas with the Foxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, the only thing I’m truly good at is procrastinating. Really, it’s horrible.  
> But yay, it's christmas, so this is theoretically arriving entirely in time... look at it as a gift, or something. If you even like it enough to consider it as such, that is. ^^°
> 
> I really need to thank you for all the kudos and amazing comments, and well, I hope you enjoy this last chapter (for now). I hope I managed to not make this too cliché and out of character for my lovely Foxes.
> 
> Have a good read :D  
> And Happy Christmas, of course.

Dinner is a boisterous event afterwards. 

It’s loud and messy and absolutely chaotic, everyone talking over one another, with no respect for table manners whatsoever, but the sense of family that permeates it all makes Neil’s heart ache in a way he hasn’t thought possible. It’s stabbing and slow, recurring with each beat of it, a sort of tingling pain that spreads to all his limbs without being entirely uncomfortable. 

He _misses_ this, he realizes. Misses this without ever having gotten to experience it, misses it as though this should have been _his—_ as though it _were_ his, if only life was different, was _fair_ , if he’d made other choices. And maybe, if he chose to stay, it really _could_ have been his, but chances are just as well that he’d be six feet under instead, a rotting body that died alone after all, so he ignores the slow and steady wistfulness that tries to creep up on him, manages to talk himself out of regretting it all. 

Instead, he’s just kind of grateful that he gets to experience this now, even if he’s only hovering on the sidelines, an afterthought that nobody pays much attention to anymore (except maybe for Andrew and Kevin and Trixie. (Andrew, who’s sitting right next to him, his face mostly a bored mask, but his presence a weight that feels more grounding than it should, and though Neil feels Andrew’s gaze on him more often than not it doesn’t make him as restless as the attention usually would.) (Kevin, who never fails to shovel more food onto Neil’s plate with pointed comments about health and muscle building and Exy.) (And Trixie, of course, who’s roaming around the table in search of scraps and scratches alike, comes to a stop next to Neil every few minutes, pressing against his leg as though to make sure that he’s still here)). 

It’s enough to witness this, to know that there are people out there who can actually enjoy life despite how cruel it’s been to Neil, even if he knows that in a couple hours he’ll be nothing but a mere memory in these people’s minds, that strange kid that fed off them that Christmas, maybe an anecdote to tell their friends, maybe not even that, while Neil himself will probably be on the move to yet another city, with yet another name, giving up this one once again, a companion that he’s kept on and off again for purely nostalgic reasons, for the memory of the chance at life he’s had, once upon a time. He’ll be gone and become _nothing_ all over again, so he enjoys these precious few moment he gets to experience being part of _something_.

So he watches with a too fond heart as the Minyard twins bond over how awful they think unsalted potatoes are and over how terrible it was to change the twins’ diapers all in the same sentence; as former and present Foxes’ coaches debate on the best ways to get all these stupid ideas out of their players’ minds; watches Kevin cut in every now and then, his own advice that seems to consist of equal parts arrogance, single-mindedness, and experience; as Katelyn Minyard and Abigail Winfield and Betsy Dobson and Robin Cross, with occasional input from Matthew Boyd and Erik Klose, discuss the best receipts for Christmas cookies and which one are best liked by their children and patients alike, and as they mourn the fact that Thea isn’t here with her own opinions and those ‘wicked spicy little things’ that they all like so much; as Nicky and his German husband feed each other and their adopted children French fries, giggling and being generally of so sunny nature that it’s almost blinding; as Renee and Allison take it upon themselves to entertain the children and make sure that everyone is cared for, that no glasses remain empty for long and that no one dares to make a noise of protest when yet another bowl of food gets nudged into their direction after finishing something off; as they all crack one terrible joke after another, eliciting full belly laughs all the same; as the children continue to giggle and tell each other fantastical stories; and Neil can’t help but feel swept up in it all even though he knows that this is something he doesn’t actually deserve to see. It’s intimate and private and the cracks in conversation are filled with affection and a silence that doesn’t need to be spoken over, and with each passing minute, Neil finds himself shrinking deeper and deeper into his chair in an attempt to hide himself away, while simultaneously feeling himself relax indefinitely as well, because this is a kind of peace he hasn’t ever known before and it does something to him he can’t explain in words. 

He has a hard time getting down the food, not only because it’s so much more than he’s ever had in these past few months, but also because of all these feelings going on inside of him, churning in his stomach and twisting up his intestines, like butterflies and caterpillars and other annoying bugs, something he’s entirely unaccustomed to, and he definitely doesn’t like it. 

And then it gets worse because people seem to remember that he’s still here, sitting with them at the table that’s been pushed into the middle of the room, made up of many separate coffee tables, and slowly the various conversations come to an end, until there’s silence once again (on the adults-end of the table, at least), and Neil is not stupid enough to not see them steal glances at him when they think he isn’t looking, isn’t so oblivious to not realize that it’s only gotten so uncomfortable because of him. 

He takes a last bite of that chicken-whatever, of which he doesn’t know exactly what it is, but then again he doesn’t need to know its name to know that it tastes like the best thing he’s had in forever, and he makes sure to chew slowly, carefully, savoring it, because he knows it will be a long time until he’ll get to eat something that good again, if ever. He takes his time to set down fork and knife, picks up the napkin and cleans his fingers as he tries to access the situation, and then he comes to a decision and says, “Thank you for letting me eat with you. I really appreciate it, but I think I should get going now.” 

There’s still some salad left on his plate, along with a few tomatoes and bacon, but it’s getting dark out, and he knows that the weather is only going to get worse the further the evening progresses. He’s already missed his chance to find place in one of the emergency sleeping places, so he’ll have to find a warm porch or house entrance instead, something from where people won’t immediately chase him away again, and experience tells him that this won’t be easy, especially not on Christmas. 

Neil’s just about to push his chair back, silently debating with himself whether he should ‘force’ Trixie to come with him or whether it’d be possible to leave her with one of these people here who surely would take great care of her, when Andrew’s flat “ _Why?_ ” stops him in his tracks. He has to force his mind to step back several paces to even slightly get a grasp on what the man is talking about, and even then he doesn’t understand. 

“Why what?”

“Why do you have to leave? I’m sure you don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Andrew! Couldn’t you of once stop being so goddamn insensitive?”

“I—” Neil feels slightly thrown, once again, by Andrew’s brutal honesty. It’s refreshing in the way it’s so incredibly startling. He debates bringing up an excuse as he’s made the experience that most people don’t like his own particular brand of honesty, either, but then he remembers the deal he’s made with Andrew, so it’s not like he really has a choice. “I don’t, yeah, but…” He swallows, gestures at the people sitting around the table, and then to the world outside the windows, where it looks like every single Christmas light available has been turned on, though they’re barely visible in the heavy snowfall at the moment. The Christmas music playlist softly in the background serves to undermine the picture, though, and the scent of tea and food and something sweet does the rest. “You really don’t need or want me here, for one, and for two, the longer I’m drawing this out, the harder it’s going to be to get back out, find a place even merely sheltered that isn’t already occupied by someone else, and since there’s two of us, it’s usually even harder to find something, let alone on Christmas. So I should just… go? Now?” Neil isn’t really sure why he makes it sound like a question, but the way every single face is rapidly changing in expression, something complicated appearing on a lot of them, is making him insecure, hesitate. Did he say something wrong? Been rude? Inadvertently insulted the host by not eating up, or something like that? He _knew_ his father’s lessons should have thought him something in that regard at least, he’s gotten punished often enough for making a fool of himself (and his father) at dinner, so—

“What on earth gave you the idea that you’re not welcome here?” That’s Allison Reynolds now, and though she looks like a princess her eyes glint like those of the fiercest warrior. She definitely doesn’t sound happy, leaning forwards over the table, knife still gripped in her fingers, and the picture momentarily reminds Nathaniel— _Neil, he’s Neil_ —too much of his mother, enough so that he doesn’t quite understand what she’s saying, doesn’t have a chance to get a grasp on her words. He just knows that the breath is getting caught in his throat and there’s a repetitive chant is his head, “ _no, no, no, mother, you’re dead, no, I’m sorry, but you’re dead, mother, you’re dead, no,_ ” a denial and an acknowledgement in one. 

He gasps, sucking down a harsh load of air that stings in his lungs and heart when there’s a hand on his neck, and he realizes that his mother can’t actually tell him anything anymore, _she’s dead_.

No more “ _don’t look back, don’t slow down, don’t trust anyone_ ,” no more “ _be anyone but yourself, and never be anyone for too long_.” 

He chokes, swallows, _breathes_ , and it feels like prison and freedom at the same time, like a weight lifting and another weight settling, like coming up on the surface and realizing you’re too far out in the ocean to survive this, but still, you’re not drowning any longer. It’s heaven and hell and Neil really doesn’t understand how he hasn’t seen this coming sooner. 

“I burned my mom’s body on a beach in California and buried her bones in the sand,” Neil says, and he doesn’t know whether he whispers or screams it. “She’s dead,” he says, and maybe he’s just thinking this and not saying anything at all. 

“Alright,” Andrew says, as though from a distance, and the words come into focus only slowly. “Let’s get you out of here. But you won’t sleep on the streets tonight, I promise you.” 

“Alright,” Neil agrees drowsily, leaning back into the warm palm on his neck, testing the solid weight of it and he’s strangely satisfied when it doesn’t budge, when it manages to hold him up for just a little while longer. 

“Do you smoke?” Andrew asks then, and Neil thinks of gasoline and fire and he thinks it might be time to burn away his mother’s memory, let the ashes rest. 

“Yeah,” he says, and the fingers squeeze for just a heartbeat, not long enough to set Neil’s heart racing, then they fall away from his neck, and Andrew’s chair makes an awful scraping noise when he pushes back from the table, but Neil follows his example without flinching. 

Andrew curses when he almost trips over Trixie, and there are a few muted peals of laughter coming from the table because of that, but Neil ignores them and bends down to pick up the dog once she’s gotten out of Andrew’s way, buries his nose in her fur and takes a deep breath. It’s soothing in a way the smell of wet dog really shouldn’t be. 

He thinks he hears Abby saying “ _You shouldn’t lift anything so heavy with that shoulder,_ ” but frankly, it’s already too late and the pain is grounding, chasing the fog from his mind, helping him focus enough to catch the coat Andrew throws at him. It’s not his own, too large and warm for that, but Neil strangely doesn’t care. For the first time in what feels like forever he’s convinced that his own things will still be where he left them when they get back, so for once his mind stays calm as he walks away without his back pack in his hands. 

There’s another pause when Nicky whistles and there’s a mistletoe mounted on the doorway above them when they pass, but Andrew just rolls him eyes and presses a kiss to Trixie’s nose, which elicits another round of laughter, more carefree and relieved this time, but Neil is getting jittery, shifting his weight from foot to foot without ever getting comfortable. Trixie twists around in his arms, pants into his face and gives him her own version of a kiss, causing the laughter to increase, and then Andrew stops rummaging around in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, looks up and tugs at Neil’s sleeve, catches his eye and inclines his head towards a staircase, and then finally they leave.

 

***

 

It’s cold. The howling wind is freezing, and the snowflakes bite harshly where they whip into his exposed face and against his hands, but Neil feels oddly peaceful. The cigarette that’s dangling from his fingers gets blown out time and time again, but Neil doesn’t care; he finds himself comforted by the fact that every time it happens, Andrew is there with his pink Grumpy Cat lighter, ready to light it up again. It’s strange, being able to rely on someone else like that, even if it’s just for such a small thing, but Neil finds himself liking it anyways. 

“Thank you,” he says, and isn’t quite sure what exactly he means while he _does_ know that there are too many things to be thankful for; things he can’t put into words, or just doesn’t have the words for, not yet at least. He thinks Andrew understands even so. 

Andrew nods and just silently holds out the lighter, finger ready on the metal spark wheel, because Neil’s cigarette has gone out again.

Neil holds it close to his face and breathes it in; the smoke does wonders for his muddled mind, clears the fog somewhat and puts him right back on that crystal clear beach, but when he looks up he can see the stars. The smell is dulled and sharpened by the winter air and Andrew’s presence so close to him, and when he breathes he feels as though with every exhale the pain fades a little, the memories quieten, and the winter air replaces the ice in his bones with gold. 

He’s never been a particularly good poet, but for some reason this moment seems worth the effort he puts into his thoughts, even though nobody else is ever going to hear them. 

For the first time in his life, Neil thinks he understands what Christmas is meant to be about. 

Maybe it’s this: a moment of peace shared between practical stranger, the tentative assurance that things are going to get better, even if it’s a long way until then. 

Maybe it’s the love that permeates the air downstairs; it’s nowhere near peaceful and the strength of it varies, but it’s there, as unshakable as a rock, the building block of a castle that’s never going to fall. It may take some hits along the way, there might be in-fighting and betrayal and hurt, but there’s always love, there’s protection and _family_. 

Maybe it doesn’t have a name. Maybe it’s a moment that passes unnoticed, maybe it’s the light on top of the Christmas tree, maybe it’s the children’s smiles, a wag of Trixie’s tail. Maybe it’s a warm bite of food, the way the hunger stops gnawing at his stomach for a while, how Abby took care of his shoulder without an irrelevant question asked.

But maybe it’s this: the moment up here with someone that doesn’t _feel_ like a stranger, an understanding between two people that doesn’t need words, a cigarette smoked in silence despite the circumstances, the churning in Neil’s gut that feels like nausea but also tells him that this is _right_ and he really doesn’t know why his thoughts are spiraling like this. 

The cigarette is going out again, and when Andrew reaches out with the lighter as though on autopilot by now (but Neil knows better, has realized that Andrew doesn’t do something _just because_ ), Neil’s fingers move as if on their own accord, but they’re not, because he knows what he’s doing when, a moment later, his and Andrew’s hand touch. He _understands_ , in that split second, what it means when Andrew doesn’t immediately pull away. 

And he smiles when Andrew says, “ _I hate you_ ,” because it doesn’t sound like a goodbye, doesn’t sound like ‘ _I want you out of my house as soon as possible_ ’, but rather like ‘ _Stay, and I’ll give you a chance._ ’

Neil smiles and says, “Okay”, looks away, out over the lit up sprawling underneath them, and takes another pull from his cigarette. The smile doesn’t leave his lips when Andrew huffs faintly and nudges his foot where it’s dangling over the ledge, and it broadens when Neil hears the doorbell ring and children’s laugh spill out into the street, when Trixie barks happily and he knows that this might be a future. This might be something he can have, if he’s careful enough. 

 

***

 

 

(( And Neil laughs when he gets introduced to Andrew’s cats, because now he understands why Andrew just couldn’t walk away from Trixie, couldn’t walk away from him. Andrew seems to have a knack for hopeless cases, and while he doesn’t try to fix them, he at least gives them the chance to grow whole again. ))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I really hc Andrew being the cat person and Neil just mostly putting up with it, so that's this au..)
> 
> Also, I’ve got to admit that for this story, there are a lot of ideas just floating around right now. There's so much I could still write about, little snippets out of everyone's lives, of future and past and present.  
> If some people are interested in seeing this, I might actually write all these things out and share them with you, turn this whole thing into a little series of sorts.
> 
> Let me know if you’d be interested. And in what, at that. I'm baerlii on tumblr, if you prefer to maybe share your own ideas that way. 
> 
> Here are some examples of the ideas I'd have already: 
> 
> \- Dessert that follows, probably with most of the others now thinking of Neil and Andrew as a couple;  
> \- Neil’s Christmas gift from Andrew;  
> \- more Twinyard bonding;  
> \- about Neil's past in his AU, his history with dogs and other animals;  
> \- maybe Andrew's past as well, mostly in comparison to his future/present;  
> \- Trixie's history, how some of her habits formed;  
> \- just plain Andreil (about being Nothing and Something, mostly);  
> \- stories with the children;  
> \- what happened to Jean and Riko and the Ravens;  
> \- Nathan's death?;  
> \- Oh, and Neil finally 'learning' to play Exy, of course!  
> \- ... maybe there's more you'd like to know about? 
> 
> Tell me what you think in the comments, and thank you for reading! 
> 
> (and to requiemofkings, I really hope you forgive me for dragging this out so much, but I really am not able to just keep myself short... hope you still like it, though (: )

**Author's Note:**

> that's that. i hope the au setting makes sense? if not, i hope it will be explained in the next chapter, which i hope to have edited sometime tomorrow (today?).  
> feedback will work as a great motivator and kudos are always welcome ;)
> 
> thanks for reading!


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